Jitters
by Mrs.Dickens713
Summary: A nervous Mr. Carson approaches Mr. Bates for advice on his upcoming wedding night.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is in response to a prompt I saw on Tumblr some time ago. I'm sorry that I don't remember certain key details, such as who requested it, only that the prompt involved Mr. Carson asking Mr. Bates' advice. As always, I don't own these delightful characters. I'll follow with an epilogue very soon.**

His wedding day was approaching quickly. His wedding day…the words caused a thrill of ….what? Expectation? Satisfaction? Anxiety? Dread? Charles looked with disdain at his threadbare pajamas. Should he buy new ones? Would she expect him to or would she be displeased by an unnecessary _frivolous_ expense? Would she purchase new evening attire? Would she have the money to spare? Could he offer her a small sum? He shook his head angrily. He shouldn't even be _thinking_ about the condition of Mrs. Hughes' current nightwear and he should not, under any circumstance, give thought to any new purchases his intended might or might not make. And it was quite out of the question to offer her money.

The family had been unexpectedly delighted by the news and unquestionably generous towards the couple. Mrs. Hughes had been whisked away by the ladies, and she later told him they insisted on making a gift of a new dress for the ceremony. Though discomfited, he could tell that she was both touched and flattered by the family's kindness. Time off had been granted and railway tickets to Lytham St. Anne's had been purchased. Two days away from the house. _And three nights, m'boy_. Lord Grantham, on hearing the news, had clapped him across the back in a very undignified manner, accompanied by words to the effect of "you sly devil." He'd found it very hard to maintain his composure, and of course he didn't dare repeat any of it to Mrs. Hughes.

As Charles hung his livery in his wardrobe, he wondered when it might be proper to call Mrs. Hughes by her first name. He hadn't done so in twenty-odd years. A sudden vivid picture of a young Elsie Hughes sprang to his mind. She had been a trim, lively young woman whose arrival had caused something of a stir, quite a stir, as he recalled, but to his mind she had grown lovelier still with the passage of time. When had her face become so dear to him? He supposed his love for her happened so gradually that he hadn't noticed when his professional regard for her deepened into _something more_. He remembered being relieved that she refused a second offer of marriage from that detestable farmer, as if he could appreciate a woman like Elsie Hughes! But was his relief professional or personal? At the time, he hadn't allowed himself even to form the question. Later, when they feared she might be seriously ill, his blind panic gave him a courage he ordinarily lacked. But it wasn't until she offered him her hand at the seaside that he allowed himself to consider a future outside service. The memory of that delightful day brought a smile to his face.

In the end, it hardly mattered, did it? He had awakened to his feelings, and though the means might be considered circuitous, he had made her his in the end. They were to be married, and the lovely little cottage on Brounker Road would be the site of a retirement he'd hardly dared imagine.

*CE*

 _Charles allowed himself to finger a lock of her hair. Loose, it was far curlier than he expected. And soft. And it smelled so fresh and clean, like lemons. He brought a curl to his lips and gently kissed it. He was gratified to see a faint flush rising along Mrs. Hughes'…no… Mrs. Carson's cheek. He was close now, so close. He could see her pulse throbbing along her neck, and he nearly groaned aloud when she unwittingly wetted her lips. He leaned closer still and felt her warm breath on his cheek. He-_

He jerked awake, flushed and embarrassed as the shy young lad he'd once been. Irritable and ashamed, he rubbed his face roughly. As if he weren't still that embarrassed young lad. What would Mrs. Hughes expect? What did he expect? Plenty, if his dreams were taken into account. She had reached for him, grasped his arm once she'd accepted his proposal. That was something, wasn't it? Of course they had touched one another before, even held hands in broad daylight, but this dream, this longing, was something else entirely. And he had no idea what to do.

*CE*

"Mr. Bates, might I have a word?"

"Of course, Mr. Carson. How may I be of help?"

Mr. Carson gestured Mr. Bates into his pantry and closed the door behind them. He'd practiced what he might say all morning, and now the words simply would not come. "Mr. Bates, I…ah, that is to say, I was merely wondering, only I know how you, that is, I understand, of course I know-"

Mr. Bates could bear it no longer. "Mr. Carson, may I assume that the matter you wish to discuss with me is personal?" Mr. Carson nodded gratefully. "May I also assume that it has to do with your wedding?" Mr. Carson nodded vigorously. Mr. Bates thought it best to be frank. "I presume you are asking advice regarding the wedding night _?" My god, the man was blushing_. Mr. Bates struggled mightily against the grin threatening to spread across his face. "Is there something specific you wish to know?" The look of shock and dismay on the poor man's face nearly caused Mr. Bates to lose his last bit of composure. "Shall we speak in general terms, then?" Mr. Carson nodded. "Very good. " He remained silent for some long moments, trying to recollect what his own father had told him _precious little_ and what might be of most benefit to Mr. Carson and of course Mrs. Hughes.

Mr. Bates cleared his throat _. My gods this was excruciating_. He fixed his gaze on a point just beyond Mr. Carson's shoulder. "Mr. Carson, as the husband, it is your responsibility to introduce your wife to marital… intimacies… as gently and kindly as possible." He heard Mr. Carson's sharp intake of breath and held a hand up to forestall him. "I understand, Mr. Carson, believe me I do. I take it you have never…?" Mr. Carson nodded curtly. "Forgive me, but you are familiar with the mechanics?"

Mr. Carson drew himself up rigidly. "I am."

"Good. Then all you need remember is how very much you care for Mrs. Hughes and all will be well."

Mr. Carson grimaced. "You say that, but what of…what of, that is I've heard stories that, sometimes- " He lowered his voice. "Sometimes the act can be painful for a lady."

Mr. Bates nodded. "That is true, but the less nervous _you_ are, the less nervous _she_ will be."

Mr. Carson let out a frustrated sigh. "But that is exactly the point. I am… extremely nervous. I would not want to cause Mrs. Hughes, please excuse me, the future Mrs. Carson, even the slightest discomfort."

"And in so far as it is in your power to do so, you will not. But you cannot change basic human biology, Mr. Carson. I hope you can forgive me for being so frank, but you must simply let nature take its course. You will be fine, I assure you." _Oh gods I'd rather be drug through the village green by my heels._ But who else did the poor man have? He was forbidden to speak of such things to the only other person in the world he trusted.

"Do you really think so, Mr. Bates?"

Mr. Bates smiled as naturally as he could. "I'm certain of it. And perhaps a glass or two of spirits wouldn't go amiss, for either of you."

Mr. Carson nodded thoughtfully, then met Mr. Bates' eyes. "I appreciate your candor, Mr. Bates. This can't have been easy for you. I do thank you."

"Not at all, Mr. Carson." _And please God never let us speak of it again_. "I must be about my business, and I'm sure you have much to attend to."

"Yes, yes. Of course, Mr. Bates," he replied absently and Mr. Bates took his opportunity to make a quick escape.

*CE*

"What were you speaking of to Mr. Bates this afternoon?"

"What? I've no idea what you're referring to."

"I saw him leave your pantry this afternoon and he looked rather flustered. Surely you had no reason to reprimand him?"

"Reprimand him? What? Oh, no, no. Certainly not. His work is exemplary, as usual. His lordship is well pleased. Very well pleased with Mr. Bates. As usual."

"Well then, what were you about? It's nothing to do with Anna, is it?"

Mr. Carson was taken aback by the sharpness of her tone. "No, no. Nothing to do with Anna. Merely household business, my dear." He was gratified to see Mrs. Hughes attempting to hide a shy smile.

"What sort of household business?"

 _Oh gods._ He might have known she wouldn't let the matter drop. Whatever could he tell her? "I only wanted to confirm his Lordship's upcoming schedule with Mr. Bates. I wanted to be certain nothing would go amiss while we're away." His shoulders relaxed as he saw her smile with delight.

Mrs. Hughes smiled indulgently at him. "We'll only be gone two days, my dear. I can assure you the house will still be standing when we return."

He wondered if it might be proper to grasp her hand, perhaps even to kiss it? It was rather something to be called my dear, even though he suspected the younger members of the household would think him quite foolish to revel over something so minor. He couldn't quite bring himself to use her Christian name, and it was clear she felt the same. He would quite happily answer to _my dear_ for the rest of his life, as long as the words came lilting out of that delicious mouth...

"Mr. Carson? Are you quite well?"

"What? Oh, certainly."

"Are you certain? You seem a bit flushed." She raised her hand to touch his forehead, but he moved out of her reach.

He gave his waistcoat a decided tug. "I was somewhat preoccupied. Perhaps we should retire for the evening. Separately, of course. I wouldn't presume, Mrs. Hughes-"

"That's quite alright, Mr. Carson." She deftly hid an amused smile. "I'll say goodnight then."

"Goodnight, Mrs. Hughes. Pleasant dreams."

"Goodnight, Mr. Carson."

He lingered in the doorway for a few moments, breathing in her faint scent and watching her walk down the corridor. Only a few more weeks. He'd never realized time could move so slowly. Or so quickly.


	2. Chapter 2

Charles sat bolt upright in bed, the bedclothes twisted angrily around his legs. As his wedding day grew closer, his dreams were becoming increasingly vivid. He was completely and utterly mortified; he had taken to rising early and beginning his day with a brisk turn about the gardens.

He relied on years of discipline to control his conscious mind. He found he could discuss the most mundane household topics with her and be only slightly distracted by her scent or the curve of her neck. He refused to contemplate her lips or the sound of her voice. Mrs. Hughes seemed to sense his difficulty and made every effort to disturb his equilibrium as little as possible.

At night, however, in spite of being wearier than he ever recalled, he had trouble falling asleep and when he finally did succumb, he was plagued by such realistic dreams. He arose, ashamed and disgusted with himself for picturing the woman he held above all others in such a... vulgar manner. Perhaps this morning he might take two turns around the gardens.

*CE*

"Have you seen your intended this morning?"

"If you are referring to Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes replied crisply, "I have not."

"You've got so many intendeds we have to refer to them by name now, do we?" Mrs. Patmore chuckled expansively. "It's always the quiet ones." Mrs. Hughes nodded curtly, but Mrs. Patmore could see she was amused. " _Mr. Carson_ is in the gardens, walking about as though his very life depended on it."

"In this weather?"

Mrs. Patmore nodded comfortably. "In this weather."

"Are you sure?"

"Saw him come in with me own eyes. Daisy overheard some of the lads talking about it a few days ago, so I made it my business to keep a look out. He came stamping in yesterday morning, said he'd been out for a turn in the gardens." She eyed Mrs. Hughes speculatively. "Everything alright between you two?"

"Of course."

"Only I noticed you don't spend as much time together lately. You go upstairs when I do, no more sherry in the evenings. I wondered."

"I've been rather tired lately."

"Bosh. You're avoiding him. You're avoiding each other. Why?"

Mrs. Hughes got up from her desk and walked to the door, scowling. "For heaven's sake, Mrs. Patmore, lower your voice!" She closed the door. "I shouldn't think you need reminding that the very walls have ears!"

"That's true enough," Mrs. Patmore agreed, lowering her voice to a hoarse whisper. "So you do admit to avoiding him?"

"I'm not avoiding him, Mrs. Patmore. We still have our jobs to do."

"But beyond that?"

"There is no beyond that." At the look on Mrs. Patmore's face, she amended her statement quickly, before the woman shouted her down. "At least not yet."

"And you're worried about the yet?" Mrs. Hughes looked at her quizzically. "The wedding? The wedding night? Has he kissed you yet?"

"Mrs. Patmore, really. Even if he had, you know I couldn't tell you."

"He hasn't, then. Hmm."

"What do you mean, hmm? Mr. Carson is an honorable man-"

"Honorable, yes, but he's still a man."

"It's not as though we're young lovers!"

"But you're not old, not yet anyways." Mrs. Patmore looked at her cagily. "Why do you think he spends his mornings walking about in weather that's likely to freeze his nose off, among other things?"

Mrs. Hughes drew herself up rigidly. "I'm sure I have no idea."

"Don't you?"

"Even if I did-"

Mrs. Patmore waved her hand dismissively. "I know, I know. You couldn't tell me about it. Pity." She paused for a moment. "So you haven't…?"

"Certainly not!"

"Do you think he has?"

"Mrs. Patmore, really! This conversation has gone far enough!"

"That's funny. I don't think it's gone nearly far enough. Are you nervous? You must be, if you're avoiding him. And he must be as well, if he's letting you. 'Course it could go either way. He could be walking because he knows and he's nervous, or he could be walking because he doesn't know and he's nervous. Aren't you curious?"

"No I am not." Mrs. Hughes slumped, as much as her corset would allow. "Our wedding is in a few days. There will be plenty of time to be curious then."

Mrs. Patmore patted her hand sympathetically. "There, now. Ask me anything you like, love."

An hysterical laugh bubbled up from Mrs. Hughes' chest. "You?"

Mrs. Patmore let out an indignant snort. "I was the youngest in a family of six girls. I've plenty of aunts as well. I know everything there is to know! Well, almost everything." She smiled sheepishly.

"Mrs. Patmore, I grew up on a farm. I've trained dozens of housemaids. I may not be a woman of the world, but I haven't lived in a sack!"

"You never kissed Mr. Burns?"

"Of course not! We were never formally engaged to be married. We were only walking out."

"He wouldn't be the first lad to try and steal a kiss. Or something else."

"Mr. Burns was a kind man, decent. He never pushed his attentions on me."

"Even the second time around?"

Mrs. Hughes arched an eyebrow. "Even the second time."

"Well, be that as it may, you are engaged to be married now. We're in a brand new century, for heaven's sake! You could kiss the man, at least, before the wedding."

"Keep your voice down!" Mrs. Hughes hissed. "Mr. Carson has made his desire for professionalism quite clear."

"He desires something, and I doubt very much it's professionalism."

Mrs. Hughes opened her mouth to retort when someone knocked on her door.

"Mrs. Patmore?"

Mrs. Hughes opened her door. "Yes, Daisy?"

"It's just-"

"Yes, yes, I know. I'm needed in the kitchen." Mrs. Patmore turned to face Mrs. Hughes. "Just think about what I said, will you?"

Mrs. Hughes nodded curtly, her mouth a thin line. She closed the door decisively behind them. The cheek of that woman! It wasn't as if she hadn't imagined him kissing her; she had. It's just that she knew he didn't want that. At least not yet. But if it was true what she said…Mrs. Hughes strained her ears as she heard his familiar tread down the corridor. She allowed a few moments for him to settle into his pantry, then she opened her door and crossed the hall.

*CE*

"Good morning, Mr. Carson."

He jumped slightly at the sound of her voice. "Mrs. Hughes! Good morning!"

"You sound flustered. Is everything alright?"

"Perfectly. I…I just didn't expect to see you this early."

"You've been out this morning?"

He pointed to his coat. "As you see?"

"Anything the matter?"

"Not at all."

"It's quite cold for a walk. Frigid, in fact."

"I often walk in the mornings. Clears my head."

"I didn't know that about you, Mr. Carson." She took a step closer. "Perhaps there are a great many things I don't know?"

Gods this woman. He licked his lips nervously. "I'll wager you know more about me than I do myself, Mrs. Hughes."

They stared at one another for a long moment. "May I join you tonight in your pantry? Perhaps we could share a glass of something?" She studied the floor intently. "I've missed our little talks."

She was so close he could smell the scent of her hair. Lavender, was it? Perhaps if he just touched her, this painful longing would ease. It was only days before their wedding, after all. They were in a new century, for goodness sake! But his hand wouldn't move.

"Mr. Carson?"

"What? Oh, yes. Yes. Certainly." He glanced down at her dear, lovely face and softened. "I've missed our little talks as well."

"You have?"

He stepped closer. "I have. I've missed you…Elsie."

She looked up, her mouth in an O of surprise. Gods damn the open door, the staff, the family, everything. He would kiss her. He would.

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

They sprang apart, Mr. Carson awkwardly tugging against the buttons of his coat. Mrs. Hughes was the first to recover. "Of course not, Mr. Barrow." She turned to face Mr. Carson. "I'll see you at breakfast."

Mr. Carson watched her glide from the room, her bearing as regal as any lady's, then faced Mr. Barrow, who leaned in the doorway with a smug expression. He'd find something quite unpleasant for the younger man to do.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

 **A/N: This chapter. THIS CHAPTER gave me fits. First Robert wouldn't behave, then Charles and Elsie wouldn't behave...which might not be a bad thing. However, matrimony remains very important to them both. Enjoy and sorry for the delay. As always, my thanks are owed to all of the wonderful Chelsie authors out there. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery; I only hope I haven't flattered too much. Thanks!**

"Carson?"

"Yes, milord?"

"I wonder if you might have a brandy with me."

"A brandy, milord?"

"Yes, or a cognac or a whisky, whatever suits your fancy." Robert took in the frankly surprised look on Carson's face and smiled indulgently. "Times are changing, Carson, as my family continues to remind me. And although I am loathe to admit certain changes to Downton, there are others that I find curiously delightful." He took in Carson's expression and turned toward the bar. "Whisky, I think."

"Yes, milord."

Charles watched as Robert expertly poured two fingers of whisky into a pair of old fashioned glasses. The moment was so surreal; he found himself mesmerized by the light refracting against the highly polished glass and through the amber liquid. It created a sort of warm glow, and Charles suddenly found himself thinking of Elsie. He shook his head to clear it. When had he become so fanciful? Robert handed him a glass, then raised his own in a silent toast.

"I hope you won't stand on ceremony, Carson, though I know you will." Robert paused, swirling the whisky in his glass. "It's curious. You and Lady Mary are both the most traditional as well as the most progressive of my acquaintance."

"Me, milord?"

"I should have thought it obvious."

Carson continued to stare, dumbfounded.

Robert smiled indulgently. "Your impending marriage. If that doesn't bring change, both to Downton and to yourself, I can't imagine what would."

"Milord, I can assure you-"

"I can assure _you_ , Carson, that it will be a most welcome change. I'm certain of it." He noted the almost imperceptible tightening of Carson's lips. "Something troubles you? Surely you're not having second thoughts?"

"No!" He grimaced, and modified his tone. "No, milord, I am not." He sighed. "But I am, as you noted, a man of tradition. I'm not sure I can change."

"Change is such a harsh word, Carson. Let us say alter instead. No doubt Mrs. Hughes has been altering you for years." He chuckled at the shocked expression on Carson's face. "I meant no disrespect. I suspect her opinions, like my own good wife's, are far more… pragmatic than ours." He sipped contemplatively. "Looking back, I expected to mold her Ladyship into a model member of the great British aristocracy." He chuckled derisively. "But I find her influence has been far greater, and I thank God for it." He paused. "If only I had taken her counsel in all things," he murmured.

"If you'll forgive me, your Lordship. _I have seen something of this world, and there are but two sorts of women in it- those who take the strength out of a man, and those who put it back_ …" He trailed off uncertainly. "Kipling."

"That's a very apt quotation, Carson. I often forget how very well read you are." He paused, a mischievous idea beginning to form in his mind. "I often see Mrs. Hughes' signature in the library ledger. I take it she is a great reader as well?"

"She is, your lordship." He couldn't help the note of pride that crept in his voice. He really couldn't.

"I suppose you two often read the same books?"

"From time to time we do, yes."

"And do you often discuss them?"

"Certainly, when we have the time to indulge in such debates."

"And when do you find the time?"

"I'm sorry?"

"I only wondered when you might find such time. I assume you're both kept rather busy by the demands of the household."

"We are indeed, your Lordship, but we can converse during meals or otherwise."

"Otherwise?"

"In the evenings, milord."

"That must be very late."

"It is, sometimes."

"Sounds rather cozy." He took a sip to hide his amusement. The man was blushing. Very well, he had his answer. He hadn't really believed it to be a love match, but Cora's insistence to the contrary had intrigued him. Best to release the poor chap before he had a fit of apoplexy. He finished his whisky in one final swallow and placed the glass on the table. "I believe I'll toddle off to bed now. It's grown very late. I'm sure you've a few things to tend before you go up."

"Yes, milord."

Robert took a few steps toward the door, then turned. "I don't mean to pry, old man, and I'm terribly pleased for the both of you. I only wanted…I only wanted to-that is, if there were anything you needed, advice or the like, I would be honored to give it, if I could."

Carson was equally mortified and touched. "Thank you, milord." He managed. "That means a great deal to me."

Robert smiled. "Not at all. And though I can't claim to be as well versed in literature as you, one Kipling quote does spring to mind. _You must learn to forgive a man when he's in love. He's always a nuisance._ Good night, Carson."

"Good night, milord." Carson downed the remaining whisky in one gulp, then leaned down to retrieve the Earl's empty glass. He suddenly felt in need of steadying. He banked the fire and resolved to do his final rounds as quickly as possible.

*CE*

As he walked through the blessedly silent house, various quotations sprang to mind.

 _She was truest to them in the season of trial, as all the quietly loyal and good will always be._

 _There are few people whom I really love and still fewer of whom I think well._

Then he completed the quotation from Kipling… _I have seen something of this world, and there are but two sorts of women in it- those who take the strength out of a man, and those who put it back. Once I was that one, and now I am this._ Once he had loved one kind of woman, and now he loved another. But as he considered the miraculous turn his life had taken (that he could love her and that she returned it!), he wondered whether he could truly call what he felt for Alice love. Certainly he was infatuated, deeply so, and had yearned for her with all the passionate feeling only a young man can be possessed of, but did he not feel passion for Elsie? Did he not yearn for her? Was he not now on his way to claim a kiss from her and leave them both with a promise of more? _A kiss is a secret which takes the lips for the ear._ Only he must be careful not to exact that promise. Yet.

*CE*

He spied a light in his pantry and his heart quickened. He paused outside the door, taking in a breath. They had not been entirely alone since this new understanding between them. She seemed…receptive to his advances this morning. Surprised, but receptive. Just a kiss, then, a moment, and then they would retire for the night. Sudden vivid images sprang to mind and he cursed himself. Perhaps he should retreat, but no, he couldn't do that to her. Or to him. He opened the door as gently as possible, but he still managed to alarm her.

"Mr. Carson!"

"I didn't mean to startle you." She flushed and bit her lip; Charles thought she'd never been lovelier. "Everyone's in bed," he blurted. She looked up in alarm; he tugged his waistcoat. "My apologies, Mrs. Hughes. That was entirely inappropriate. Perhaps we should-"

She put her hand on his arm. "It's alright, Mr. Carson. Charles."

She was as delightfully flustered as he was on the day he'd confided in her that he preferred being in agreement with her. He hadn't thought her capable of shyness, and he was enchanted by it. She refused to look him in the eye, so he leaned down to whisper near her ear. "I like hearing you say my name, Elsie." He put a hand to her elbow and discovered she was trembling. He felt curiously calmed by her nerves. "I won't press you," he breathed.

She looked up, her expression a mixture of surprise and defiance. "I know that."

He shivered; the way she drew out those vowels. He'd noted the musical quality of her voice before, but it had seldom had such an effect on him. "May I kiss you Elsie?" She nodded, then licked her lips in a gesture of nervous anticipation. He fought the urge to crush her to him. Instead, he leaned forward slowly and gently touched her lips with his. Her eyes widened in surprise, then fluttered closed again and she reached for the lapels of his livery. Charles allowed his hand to rest on her back, taking comfort from the stiff, sure outline of her corset. He opened his mouth and brushed his tongue against her lips. Elsie pulled out of his embrace and turned away from him, steadying herself against his desk.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Hughes. I'm really terribly sorry. I hope you can forgive me. I'll just say goodnight."

She turned quickly. "No! Don't go. I just…it…" She studied the ground intently. "It was unexpected. That's all," she said softly. "I am a bit nervous, I suppose."

He smiled in relief and reached for her hand. "As am I."

"You wouldn't know it," she joked.

He took her other hand in his and squeezed them both. "I surprised myself." He smiled down at her.

A comfortable hush settled between them.

"Would you…would you care to try again?"

His heart seized in his chest. "Perhaps we-" but as he took in her dear face, all his fears and concerns for propriety faded away. "Perhaps just once more, Mrs. Hughes."

"Elsie," she whispered.

"Elsie," he breathed. He kissed her again, and she squeezed his hands as she parted her lips against his. He pulled back for a moment. "Are you sure?" She nodded, and he kissed her again, this time allowing his mouth to open against hers.

It was painfully exquisite, the feeling of his tongue in her mouth, the gentle pressure of his body against hers, the sensation of her corset and his desk pressing into her flesh. She gave herself up to these new feelings, curiously overcome and yet in complete control. He'd released her hands in order to grasp her shoulders and now he embraced her. She gasped as he lifted her onto his desk. He sprang from her as if burned.

"I think we must say good night now, Elsie."

She stood from the desk and smoothed her skirts reflexively. "I think you're right, Charles." She smiled at him. "But it was a wonderful kiss. Good night." And she glided away from him, his mouth open in delighted shock.


	4. Chapter 4

Anna unfastened the last button. "There. You can slip out of it now, Mrs. Carson."

"Thank you, Anna. I had no wish to trouble you, but I do appreciate your help. I could never have gotten it off on my own."

Anna refrained from making the obvious jest, but reigning in a cheeky grin proved more difficult. "I assure you it was no trouble, Mrs. Carson. Do you need anything else?"

"No, no. I can dress myself from now on." She turned suddenly and took Anna's hand in her own. "Thank you, my dear."

Anna felt tears spring to her eyes. In spite of what many said, Mrs. Hughes, _Mrs. Carson_ , had a soft heart under that stern exterior. Softer perhaps than any knew, save one. "You're welcome. I wish you very happy, Mrs. Carson, and I do hope you enjoy your wedding trip."

Mrs. Carson dropped Anna's hand smartly. "I'm sure I shall," she said crisply.

Anna knew it was time to leave the woman in peace. Though several words of reassurance came to mind, she had no way to voice them. "If you'll excuse me…"

Mrs. Carson nodded, then turned to busy herself by rearranging her traveling clothes. Her shoulders slumped as she heard the door click softly behind her. She might have asked Anna _something_. In spite of her boldness the other night, Elsie was quite nervous about this evening. It would be expected, particularly after the kiss they shared, and while she knew what it entailed in theory, the thought of practicing it made her insides shake. She sighed. Best get on with it. She slipped out of her wedding dress, carefully folding it and laying it amongst the tissue paper in its box. She turned and studied her reflection. Anna had done a marvelous job with her hair and even insisted on a bit of color for her cheeks and lips. Elsie touched her face lightly; she didn't look like herself at all. She knew herself to be plain, severe even, but today there was a softness, an almost girlish quality. Hadn't she always heard a woman was loveliest on her wedding day? She smoothed her hands over the new undergarments Anna had insisted upon. _"You_ _cannot_ _wear your corset underneath this dress. The delicate silk won't hang properly at all."_ She protested, of course, but Anna would not relent. _"It would be an embarrassment to both you and Mr. Carson."_ And that had been that.

Because the ladies had gifted her a wedding dress, Elsie had been able to purchase some fabric for a rather elegant traveling dress. Miss Baxter had offered, quite sincerely, to make the dress for Elsie. It was a lovely dress, a deep green which suited her coloring exactly. Mr. Carson always did admire her in green, even if he never used the words. This dress, too, must be worn with her new undergarments, according to Miss Baxter. She supposed one day she might have to give up her corset, an enemy for so long that now it was a friend. _Not unlike Mrs. Patmore._ She shook her head over her wandering thoughts, and put the box with her delicate gown on the top shelf of her wardrobe. She would move it to their new rooms when they returned. Her heart clenched in anxiety. When they returned to Downton, they would truly be husband and wife. Wouldn't they? She looked crossly at her reflection. "You won't be anything if you don't get going here, lass." She grasped her new dress, shook it lightly, and stepped into it as if donning armor for battle.

*CE*

The mercifully short train ride to Lytham St. Anne's was awkward in the extreme. He offered her his arm at the station, and she took it, stiffly. He took advantage of their newly wedded state to assist her into the carriage and was thanked for his trouble _pleasure_ with a definite scowl. She occupied the window seat, her back as straight as though she were wearing her corset, which he knew she could not be. Though the material of her coat was thick, he could feel the absence of rigid lines he remembered feeling just the other evening. _Best not think of that now, mate_. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His wife looked askance at him.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, yes. Fine. Perfectly fine," he boomed. "And you?"

"As you see," she said stiffly. Why, oh, why must she talk to him as though she were disciplining a maid at Downton?

He took a deep breath. "It will be gone four o'clock by the time we reach the inn. I thought perhaps we might have an early supper."

An early supper? What would they do to fill those long hours until it was time to sleep? _You know how he plans to fill the time, you foolish woman_! "An early supper?"

Charles turned to smile at her. "If you've no objection? I confess I was too nervous to eat before the ceremony and too preoccupied after. I am rather starved at the moment."

She smiled back weakly. "Of course," she murmured.

At least she was talking to him! "Were you able to eat anything this morning?"

"Mrs. Patmore forced me to drink a cup of very strong tea and to eat a boiled egg." She smiled at the memory. "It was all I could manage, though she threatened me with more." They were very close now, his face only inches from her own. "I suppose I'm a bit hungry as well."

He could feel his face slacken; he must really look like an old booby now. She was biting her lip in that way she had; she did it whenever she was uncertain or hesitant. It was oddly endearing; many years ago it had amused him to have proof that the inestimable housekeeper was capable of some minor vulnerability. IT had made him feel strong, impenetrable even. Now he could admit freely that she was the stronger of the two and always had been. But now, he knew, it would be his strength they must both rely on. The thought terrified him.

*CE*

Charles fiddled unnecessarily with the clasp on his traveling case. The room was quite spacious; an en suite, which was an extravagance he felt they could both afford and deserve. He could tell she was pleased, even if her demeanor was still somewhat stern. Dinner hadn't eased matters between them. "Perhaps you might like to change for the evening?" Her look of surprise _terror_ made his stomach clench painfully. "Only should you wish to," he added lamely.

"Of course," she said weakly. She opened her own carpetbag and pulled out two neatly folded bundles, then turned toward the door of the bathing room. "Will you be changing as well?"

He took in the narrow set of her shoulders and stifled a sigh. This wasn't at all how he'd imagined this evening. _What did you expect, mate? D'you think she'd just fall into your arms the minute you two was alone?_ "Yes. Yes, I think I will." He watched as she marched (there could be no other word for it) into the bathing room and shut the door.

He sighed and rubbed his face wearily. He thought it would be easy between them. It always had been; mostly always. He gingerly pulled a carefully wrapped bottle and two glasses from his case. He'd agonized for days over a choice of spirits, but in the end had settled on a particularly fine claret he'd been saving for several years. Saving for what he'd never allowed himself to speculate. He thought it a good choice, solid and respectable, with a hint of the sublime. He hadn't packed a decanter, of course, but he could open the bottle and let it breathe.

*CE*

He fussed so long with the wine that he realized he had better hurry and change before Mrs. Carson finished her preparations for the evening. He removed his necktie and collar, draped his suit and waist coats across a chair; he would hang them later. He quickly removed his cufflinks and studs, thankful for another reason that he had never chosen to employ a valet for himself. He unbuckled his trousers, pulled his shirt off and was beginning to remove his vest when the door opened. As he turned toward the sound, his trousers fell down. Elsie jumped and inadvertently backed into the bathing room where she banged her head, rather smartly, into the open door. Charles pulled up his trousers and rushed to her.

"Are you alright?"

She refused to meet his gaze. "I am. Stupid really. I didn't mean to-"

"Let's have a look at you." He gently tilted her head down, then felt for a knot. "Nothing appears to be amiss," he rumbled. She continued to look away from him. "Elsie," he murmured.

"Yes?"

"You're lovely."

"Don't say that."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not true," she said softly.

He leaned closer. "Do you not think me handsome?"

She looked up quickly. "I do." She studied the wall again. "Very," she muttered.

"I think you beautiful. Very." He leaned in closer still and placed a kiss on the corner of her mouth.

"Charles, I-"

"It's been some time KISS that I've considered you KISS the loveliest woman KISS in Yorkshire; in all of England."

"Oh," she breathed. She wanted to reach for him, but he was wearing only his vest and trousers. It seemed...unseemly. An hysterical chuckle escaped.

"What is it, Elsie?"

"Nothing. Only, I wanted to touch you, but then I thought…which is ridiculous really because-"

"Elsie?"

She looked up at him. "Yes Charles?"

"Trousers be damned," he muttered. He gathered her in his arms and kissed her as he had been longing to since the moment she had agreed to become his wife.

 **A/N: I know. I KNOW. And I am sorry to leave you there. This scene took an unexpectedly comic turn. Look for an M-rated chapter to follow.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Mild M-rated content below.**

The feeling of his mouth against hers was like the silk of her wedding gown: soft and cool, belying the heat between them. She hadn't known what to do with her hands, so she'd left them awkwardly dangling by her sides, yet she itched to hold him, to feel the warmth of him, the solidness, through her fingers. Tentatively, she placed her hands on his chest, slipping her fingers around the sleeves of his vest. Charles groaned into her mouth and attempted to push his knee between her legs, but he became tangled up between his shoes and trousers and fell heavily against her. He righted himself as quickly as possible.

"Are you alright?"

Elsie laughed nervously. "I am."

Charles sighed as he tried to shake his foot loose from his trouser leg. "This isn't how I imagined it," he said softly.

"Oh?"

"Is it what you expected?"

"I…I-"

"You mean you never thought about…?" She looked away, embarrassed, but Charles gripped her chin gently in his hand. "It's alright, my darling," he whispered. "We're planners, you and I." He kissed her cheek softly. "But I'll admit to not knowing exactly what to plan for." He turned his face into the hollow of her neck. Tears sprang to her eyes as she realized just how nervous he was. She gently extricated herself from his embrace and knelt to the floor. "What…what are you doing?"

"Untying your laces," she said, resolutely staring at his shoes.

"You don't…you oughtn't-"

She looked up at him as she heard the catch in his voice, wearing an expression he'd never seen before. "I love you," she said simply, then eased his foot out of one shoe, then the next. The room was still and quiet, and the last rays of the fading sun retreated slowly across the carpet. She rose gradually, lifting his trousers with her. When she had raised them above his hips, she kissed him on the cheek. "Let's go to bed, Mr. Carson."

*CE*

He watched from the bed as she hung his clothing in the wardrobe. He felt curiously calm; this was his Mrs. Hughes after all. They would be changed, yes, but not unrecognizably so. They would learn, together, how to be married. As he watched her neatly hang his pants so that there would be no creases in them, he thought he could have no better tutor.

*CE*

As she crossed the room in the dusky twilight, he moved across the bed to make room for her and held up the covers so that she could slip under them. She crept into bed beside him and faced him with a small, shy smile. He looked upon her in wonder; how had he never realized how small she was? She was so small and delicate; not Mrs. Hughes, not Mrs. Carson, but Elsie. He had a ridiculous urge to giggle; how was he not to crush her? And how had he only now realized that her hair was in a long plait down her back? His fingers itched to touch the loose curls that framed her face. Elsie took one of his hands and laid it across her cheek. He watched, dumbstruck, as she turned her face and placed a kiss in the center of his palm. His heart clenched, and in his mind he heard Reverend Travis speaking a few phrases from the Morning Prayer:

 _…And although we ought at all times humbly to acknowledge our sins before God; yet ought we most chiefly so to do, when we assemble and meet together to render thanks for the great benefits that we have received at his hands…_

And all he could think was _thank you God, thank you._

*CE*

He remembered few details of the first time he made love to his wife. He recalled sounds and touch, a joining that felt like coming home at last after a long and difficult journey. He thought he remembered clumsy kisses and passionate ones, awareness of some pain for his darling and overwhelming bliss for himself. That hardly seemed fair, but they would make love again, and again, God willing. He would be more attentive next time. For now, he contented himself with cradling his drowsing wife, running gentle fingers through her hair and along her skin, marveling all the while as to how a man like him could be gifted with a woman such as this.

 **A/N2: I cannot tell you how I struggled with this update, and I was disappointed that it ended up being so short. I cut quite a bit of extraneous material...it seems I'm terribly rusty lately. I plan to follow this with an epilogue centering on an anniversary. Thanks so much for your continued encouragement and kindness. It means so much.**


	6. Chapter 6 Epilogue

It was close in the room, yet he didn't feel sleepy in the slightest. His wife lay in his arms; her rhythmic breathing told him she was fast asleep. He felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth as he twisted the end of her braid around his finger.

Making love had a soporific effect on his wife. She invariably fell asleep while he became alert and energetic. He often lay awake for three quarters of an hour or more, gently stroking her hair or her skin and eventually her soft, even breaths would lull him to sleep.

When they lay like this, skin to skin, he marveled again at how far they had come, how far _he_ had come. Her warm, small body lay across his and he smiled in remembrance of her delight at his surprise.

 _"Are you certain we can take the time, Charles?"_

 _He threaded her arm through his and patted it reassuringly. "I'm certain, my dear."_

 _They walked leisurely to the station, having sent the young lad who did the odd job for them to the station earlier that morning with their bags._

 _"How long will we be away?"_

 _"Two days." And three nights._

 _"Ought we to spend such a sum now?"_

 _He looked down at her dear face, her brow puckered with worry. He wished he were as rich as Croesus if only to smooth those anxious lines from her face. She did worry so about money. He hadn't anticipated that. Now that they were officially running a small bed and breakfast at Brounker Road, she worried, excessively, he thought, over whether they would collect enough revenue each month to cover their own expenses, as well as Becky's. She continued to worry, despite Charles having shown her his savings book as well as the few prudent investments the late earl had thoughtfully suggested all those years ago. He took her hand from his arm and kissed it._

 _"Charles! Anyone might see!"_

 _"And what of it?" He wriggled his eyebrows at her. "Is a husband not allowed to show affection to his wife?" He leaned close and whispered in her ear. "I'd be very disappointed if that were so."_

 _Elsie ducked her chin, but not before he saw the color rise in her cheeks. Even after a year of matrimony, she was still a bit shy, even in the privacy of their own home. Her curious mix of reticence and boldness surprised and delighted him._

 _As a young man, he had tried, valiantly but with little success, to close his ears to the mysterious, scandalous talk of those around him. He allowed himself to partake of some information, planning, as he was, to be wed very soon. When his understanding with Miss Neale proved false, he put such thoughts away and devoted what he now could admit was a true heart to the service of the Crawley family. Many years it was before he had an inkling of his feelings for the formidable housekeeper. He began to suspect ran deeper than they ought during his proposed transfer to Haxby, but when confronted by her illness, he could no longer deny that she had mended his broken heart. Still, he could hardly believe her capable of returning his affections. He knew, of course, that she had refused, twice, an offer of matrimony from Mr. Burns. He could only assume that she did not wish to marry, and he was unwilling to jeopardize their cordial relationship by admitting his deepening feelings for her. It was the death of Mrs. Patmore's aunt, such an unlikely source, that motivated him to test the waters. He smiled at the memory._

 _"You're very mysterious, Mr. Carson. Will you not tell me where we're going?"_

 _"You'll know soon enough, my dear," he said placidly._

 _"You're grinning like the Cheshire cat!"_

 _"I'm only thinking of Mrs. Patmore's aunt."_

 _"Mrs. Patmore's aunt? Whatever for?"_

 _"Without her timely demise, we might not be walking to the train station this morning with the prospect of a few days respite from our busy schedule. I might never have gotten the nerve to approach you with a business proposition."_

 _She looked at him slyly. "Was it ever a business proposition?"_

 _He looked down at her, her mouth a gentle curve. He had seldom wanted to kiss her more. "No, Mrs. Carson. It was never a business proposition."_

 _*CE*_

 _"Lytham St. Anne's?"_

 _He looked at her apprehensively. "Only I thought, it might be nice to mark the occasion of our first anniversary-"_

 _"Oh, Mr. Carson," she breathed. "It's a lovely idea." She took another breath. "I'm touched," she said softly. "Truly."_

 _They stared at one another for a long moment, then Charles cleared his throat. "I suppose we ought to board our train."_

 _She nodded, and he helped her aboard, delighting again in the myriad ways he could show his affection for her._

 _*CE*_

 _It had taken some doing, but he managed to secure the same room they had occupied for their honeymoon. As soon as the porter left them, Elsie grasped his hand._

 _"Mr. Carson, this is one of the loveliest things anyone has ever done for me."_

 _"Only one of the loveliest?" he said lightly._

 _She smiled indulgently. "The other was offering me a proposal of marriage."_

 _He moved closer. "Was there no other lovely thing?" He breathed in the scent of her…lavender and Sunlight soap. The most expensive, delicate perfume could not compete with the scent of his wife._

 _"There might have been one or two, perhaps," she murmured._

 _"Elsie." He stepped closer._

 _"Yes?"_

 _"Shall I draw the curtains?"_

 _"I think you should."_

 _*CE*_

 _They made love then, in the weak afternoon sunlight. They undressed one another slowly, carefully, taking the time to hang their things in the wardrobe. Soon enough they slipped between the crisp sheets and he held her lovingly in his arms._

 _Even now, after one year of matrimony, she was still somewhat reserved, shy even, and it charmed him completely. He gently coaxed her on top of him; he knew she felt exposed, yet he had observed that her enjoyment was greater when they made love like that. For his part, he thrilled to see her above him, her long braid suspended between them. He was able to caress and stroke her more freely as well. He secretly worried that his bulky frame was too great a burden, no matter how often she assured him otherwise._

 _His hand drifted between them, to that dark, secret place that brought them both such joy._

 _"I love you, my darling. I love you, mo gradh," she whispered hotly in his ear as they moved together._

 _"Elsie, oh Elsie." Her whispered cries were sharp and urgent against his ear. "I love you." He kissed her mouth, her neck, her breasts, and he felt her tighten around him._

 _"Charles, I…I-"_

 _"Yes, my darling, yes."_

 _She spasmed against him, and he let out a terrific groan as they shattered together._

*CE*

He could not deny that he was a contented man. He refused to dwell on the past, on possibilities, the missed opportunities. Instead, he focused on the treasures he had amassed over the years. The curve of her neck in the moonlight, the smooth as well as the sharp side of her tongue, the unabashed love he saw reflected in her eyes. He wasn't a callous man, but he felt the cheque they wrote every month for Becky's care was a small price indeed for such bliss.

He kissed his wife's hair and let his eyelids close. He ought to take rest while he could. After all, they only had two days. And three nights.

 **A/N: I've been reading and re-reading several older Chelsie fics. I've watched the fandom grow over several years, and with that growth came so many wonderful and talented writers who share their unique versions of Charles Carson and Elsie Hughes. Certain elements of all the past and current fics have made their way into each of my stories and this is no different. I urge you to re-read the earlier work. It is a treasure trove, as deedeedee rightly puts it. IT also soothes the interim between updates of the many and varied but all wonderful current fics out there. Special acknowledgement goes to Evitamockingbird. Her lovely fic "Waking" has some beautifully tender moments between a reverent Charles and asleeping Elsie. Also, Aussiegirl was, I think, the first to mention Elsie's scent as a combination of lavender and Sunlight soap. I've always loved that, and I borrowed it here. We're all united in our love for these tender, forthright, yet extremely reticent people who nevertheless bumble their way towards love. Thanks for reading and reviewing. I appreciate all of your kind words.**

The End


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